Like A Secret Or Sin
by demonscorpse
Summary: Set after 1x10. Just a drabble on what my take of what would happen in 1x11, with the whole Oscar storyline and Kurt's reaction to Jane's torture.


**OMG that mid-season finale! Please, no. No love triangles. This show has taken over all other shows I watch, becoming my favourite. I love this show, and I swear to hell, if a love triangle forms with Jane, Kurt and Oscar I will flip major shitballz. I hate love triangles. This will also be posted to my wattpad account: wyohending.**

With a count of 2708 words:

 ** _"I wanna taste you again, like a secret or a sin."_**

He leans down, inching closer towards her. His features are defined, decent looking. If it weren't for Kurt invading her every thought she may have found him attractive, been attracted _to_ him. She clearly did back when she was Taylor, they _were_ engaged after all. But Taylor is not who she is anymore. She is Jane. She may have the muscle memory of Taylor Shaw, and she may don the same personality traits, but she is no longer her. She is Jane. Jane Doe.

She is a badass consultant for the FBI, she is the lost girl that found home in the embrace of Special Agent Kurt Weller. Jane kissed him, kissed the man that has seen her for nothing but perfect, embraced all of her flaws, loving them, the man that has held her close when she needed it and kept his distance when she needed space.

It's a stupid thing to do, she knows, but she can't help herself comparing her recent kiss with Weller to the memories of a kiss with the man crouching in front of her.

The man that the _other her_ called Oscar. The _other her_ said to trust him, but Jane isn't Taylor. How can she trust him? He was someone that had something to do with applying all those tattoos to her, _Jane's_ , body.

"Who are you?" Her voice is croaky and rough like glass on her throat from breathing in the object of the torture. Her eyes flick to his hands as he moves with a blade. Panic courses through her entire being, her mind conjuring up all the worst-case possible scenarios.

"Oscar," he sighed. The rope tears apart as he unbinds her feet. "You would know that if you listened to your video."

"That person is not me, I am not Taylor. I became somebody else when I emerged from that duffel bag in Times Square."

He cuts her hands free silently. Allowing everything to sink in.

 _You did this._  
 _The mission is going as planned._  
 _Kurt Weller._  
 _Oscar._  
 _You did this._

He takes a step back, giving her the room to stand from where she lay. It seems to be an abandoned warehouse or building of sorts. There are multiple concrete pillars, and the cemented floor looks dirty with wear. This _Oscar_ still holds the blade in his hand, and panic flashes through her again. Obviously the old her, _Taylor_ , had her reasons for trusting him, and obviously if he were not trustworthy she would not have told herself to trust him, well this version of her. _Jane._

Instinct takes over, and for a second she forgets everything. She forgets the video to Jane from Taylor, she forgets how close both her and Oscar were - or at least from what she could tell in her barely there flashes of memories - before everything. And for a second she forgets how Kurt's lips felt, moving tenderly against her own, and the fact that he smelled like the honeydew shampoo she had caught a glimpse of in his bathroom one time. He didn't have much hair to work with, so he never bought his own, just borrowed his sister's from time to time.

Her right hand flies to the inside of his wrist and her left to the outside of his hand, using brute force in a quick motion to disarm him of the blade. Her open palms make a slapping sound against the flesh of his limb, and the knife clatters to the concrete.

He doesn't do much to defend himself, doesn't even try to stop her when she grabs for the weapon. Just stands there, almost as if awaiting the end of her outburst. She pushes him into one of the pillars, and holds it to his throat. As she threatens him, she inspects it.

It looks like a Dao Blade but miniaturised. It takes her by surprise. Certain things she can remember, like when she tried tea for the first time - well first time as Jane - and she described it as grass clippings, she knew what they tasted like. But this was more of a specific memory without actually having a flashback. She blinks a few times to clear her head.

The blade presses against the soft flesh of Oscar's throat, and he seems to be waiting for an explanation as to why she has him pinned to a pillar with a knife pressed against his jugular. "Who _are_ you?"

Jane's demanding tone doesn't faze him and replies with a simple; _Oscar._

She groans and grits her teeth. "Why are you here?" Her wet hair sticks to her face, and her clothes to her body, she feels very uncomfortable and just wants to leave. But she needs to find out what is going on first.

"I should leave." He hasn't said much, but for some reason those three words are enough to make her loosen her grip, giving him just the advantage he needs. He has the upper hand, using his weight to flip them around and pull the weapon from her grip. She is about to throw a punch, but realises he isn't threatening her in any way, but putting it in a holster on his right side that looks to be homemade, but very well done.

He presses his forehead against hers while his hands reach for her arms. She can feel his breath tickle her face, and her mind flashes back to Kurt, the way he breathed out a laugh when Sawyer interrupted. Her mind flashes back to Kurt and how breathless he was when their lips parted. A decent shove from her made Oscar move at least a foot and a half backward. She has feelings for Kurt that she can't deny, she has feelings for Kurt that cloud her mind. Even though she is unsure what is happening between them right now, she knows she could never do this, never with anyone but him. Could never do this to him.

"Look," she starts. She is unsure how to say it, unsure how he will take it. She's not even sure if the _other her_ had told him anything about Kurt. "I know back before all this happened..." How do the words even go? What were they? Yes they were engaged, but she knows next to nothing about her old life. Let alone _him._

"We were engaged, but that girl isn't me. I am not Taylor. I am a whole other person. My name is Jane, okay? And I don't know you, not really. I appreciate your help, I really do." Her mouth pulls itself into a taut line and she crosses her arms trying to keep her core temperature above dangerously low.

With a nod, he steps back raising his hands in a surrender like gesture. Her eyes don't even close for three full seconds, and he is gone from her sight when they open again. She had so many things to ask him.

 _Why is this happening?_  
 _What do these tattoos mean?_  
 _Did I really do this to myself?_

The list extends for much longer and she heaves a sigh. Finding a door, she steps onto the street into the brisk air that bites at her skin. Her lungs burn from ingesting all that water and the cold air just made her already cold lungs worse.

X-x-X

"Wait, what do you mean she isn't there?" He knows yelling down into the phone won't help him, just aggravate the agents that have notified him the situation, but he can't help it. His worry for her since she suddenly crashed back into his life after 25 years has been growing more and more every day they spend together, or apart.

She had snuck out past her security detail just to see him. She had been waiting at his doorstep for who knows how long. His face still burned from the trails her small fingers left in their wake when she grabbed him to press their lips together. Even Allison noticed the way he looked at her, and at the time he claimed it wasn't like that. But it totally was, even he knew it.

Jane's security detail claims it had been too quiet for too long. He says that Jane seems to have trouble sleeping, usually the television is on for a few hours before she clocks out, and even then gets up through the night and movement is apparent. But not tonight. Not a single peep or rustle of movement.

The walk between his apartment and her safe house isn't that far. He knows that driving would be faster than walking, which is why he decides to run, and take a shortcut.

He blames himself, something he seems to do a lot more often lately when it comes to her. He always finds a reason to put the blame onto himself when something is wrong with her. He knows he should have invited her in, knowing fully well that she would decline his offer especially after that one time when Sarah bombarded her with childhood memories she was so desperate to remember. The panic attack wasn't Sarah's fault, nor Kurt's. But Kurt felt responisble in a way thinking he forced the Taylor thing on her too fast.

So then with her declining the offer, he should have pushed to walk her back to her apartment. She also would have told him that it wasn't necessary and that she would be okay. But _that_ would be something he wouldn't have let her get away with, at all. He would have gotten his way.

Her face flashes in his mind, the way he makes her smile, the way the coner of her lip lifts up when she speaks certain words and sounds. He can still feel her hand in his with the metal of the wedding bands they wore undercover pressing into his flesh, holding hands in the limo and while dancing. He can still feel her heartbeat under his hand from when she assured him that her, _Taylor's_ , disappearance was not his fault. No matter how many times people had told him it was in no way his fault, he just was never able to believe it. And she was right, he had never been told by her, and it made him feel just that slight bit better that she didn't blame him at all.

He can still see the terrified look on her face when they first met and she ran her hands over his discernible features, and that one time he scared the shit out of her pretending his eardrums were damaged in the gunfight she thought he died in.

And just as he reaches her front door, he sees her coming from the opposite direction.

He tells the security detail that he will deal with the matter of allowing her to escape once again later on. Her body is soaked and she is shivering like a leaf.

"Jane, oh my god. What happened?"

His hand involuntarily reaches for her face, and lifts it so he can assess her. She had been crying, he could tell, and his heart shattered into a million pieces.

She sees the worry etched into his face, and wills herself not to cry. She hopes he doesn't see her tearstained cheeks.

She pulls away, making his hand drop. She walks through the door, and he half expects her to close it behind her. But she doesn't. She turns to face him, and gestures with her thumb for him to come in.

He is greeted by the comfortable warmth of the perfectly set temperature of the thermostat. _Toasty_. He can not imagine how chilled to the bone she must be.

She walks into her bedroom, leaving him in her dining room without a word, he knows better than to follow her so he stays, admiring the amazing work she has put into the board she has set up. There are news clippings, multiple strands of red string, photos, and drawings. The drawings are very familiar, and it takes him a minute to realise that they are her tattoos. He only really notices they are her tattoos when he sees the drawing of the bird that is on her neck. He likes that one the most. They are hand drawn too. So she can draw. She constantly surpises him.

After choosing a long sleeved black shirt and light grey yoga pants, she stands in the doorway of the dining room, just admiring him. He looks deep in thought, looks content even. "Are you just gonna stand there?"

His deep voice shocked her, making her jump a little. His chisled jaw gets hit perfectly by the golden light, making it appear more defined than it is. And she smiles softly.

"What happened, Jane? Why are you soaked?"

Suddenly he isn't in a completely different room than her, but is right before her eyes. She collapses into him, her face buried in his neck. Her sobs shake her entire body and he hurts for her. Kurt's hands rub circles over her back in a comforting motion but also to help warm her up.

He presses a light kiss into her hair. Her arms rest around his neck, and he remembers how the last time she broke down he pushed her hand into his chest so she could feel his heartbeat, his breathing. And he remembers back to how comfortable it made him feel when she did the same for him later on.

So he pulls back, and looks her face over. Her eyes are red rimmed, and puffy. Her hair is a mess and tears are everywhere. Grabbing her hands he feels how cold her skin is, and it sends chills down his spine.

Now with both pairs of their hands are on his chest, they stand there deep in trance, staring into the eyes of one another, her breathing slows and her crying subsides. He sees the raw marks on her wrists, from where the rope restraints have chafed her flesh to the point of bleeding.

She is grateful that he knows not to push it, she knows that he is giving her the time to gather her thoughts and words to explain what happened. He was so going to kill whoever did this to her, no one gets to hurt Jane without feeling the wrath of Kurt Weller.

He takes aways his hands from hers, and grabs her face. Her eyes are the most beautiful hue of green he has ever laid his own blues upon. He literally slams his lips into hers. Their first kiss was passionate. It was slow and tentative. In this point in time who needs tentative, when you can just go all for it? Who needs slow when you can have fast and reassuring? His tongue grazes hers, and her hands are no longer on his chest but in his hair at the back of his head. She smiles into the kiss and for now, everything is okay. For now, she is safe because she is in the presence of an amazing man. Fast and a little sloppy is something he needs right now, as he can see she is hurting. But it is also for him, although it is too soon to say it out loud or even really to admit to himself, he is falling for her. He needs to kiss her hard just to make sure she knows how much she means to him. He needs to taste her, because she is the best thing that has ever happened to him.

She tells him everything as her body curls under the fleece blanket on the couch, and her head is resting in his lap as his fingers dance through the matted tendrils of hair and draws nonsese on the flesh of her temple and cheek.

With his free hand, he reachers for one of hers. He inspects her wrist and pulls it towards him. She loves the fact that he just randomly grabs her hand intertwining their fingers, and then she feels his lips gently press against the soreness. It's a calming gesture, and she smiles even in the midst of relaying the last hour or so.


End file.
